Focus
by vansen58
Summary: His father is dead, but his brother is alive and he needs to focus. AU. Stanford.
1. Chapter 1

His father is dead.

He's sitting on his kitchen in Palo Alto and his father is dead.

Pastor Jim is asking if he's okay on the other side of the line but he can't breath.

His father is dead.

He can't breath.

His father is dead.

He can't breath or answer or live but he hears Pastor Jim say something about Dean and he's back.

Dean.

Dean's missing.

His father is dead, but Dean's just missing and that gives him something to focus on.

Dean.

He misses the doorbell ringing but he doesn't miss Jess' yelp of fear and he's jumping back to the living room where his friends were studying a couple minutes ago and now they all look terrified because there's a man in a leather jacket with vacant eyes and a silver gun in his hand at the door.

Dean.

"He's here. I got him, I got him. I'll call you back, Pastor Jim", and he turns off the phone and let's out a sigh he didn't know he was holding.

His father is dead, but Dean is alive and he can focus.

Jess is wide eyed looking at him and he tries to reassure her that it's okay, he's okay, just wait over there, and his eyes never leave his brother.

His father is dead, but his brother is alive.

His brother is alive, but just barely.

His hair is spiky everywhere, his back is rigid, his jaw is set, his eyes are focusing on something around Sam's tennis shoes and his knuckles are white around his gun.

"Dad's dead", he whispers and Sam wonders how much pain can someone let out in a single sentence.

"I know, Pastor Jim just called me", Sam makes a conscious effort to sound reassuring and soft and not like the terrified little brother Dean's supposed to take care of.

His father is dead, but Dean's alive and he can focus.

"Hey, man, just come on in, okay…" and he can tell his friends are not really thrilled about letting the crazy man with the gun inside and he knows all eyes are on them and he really didn't want to be the freak in Stanford, but he doesn't care because his father is dead, but his brother is alive.

Dean doesn't move though.

"I was…", Dean tries and Sam's amazed about how his voice can sound deep and barely a whisper at the same time. His brother leans on the doorframe and smiles a wicked smile as he playfully knocks the gun against his own head. "I was gonna shoot myself".

Sam's back at not breathing.

"Then I thought… I should find you, you know…", his eyes widen a little and Sam realizes he's drunk, he's so past shitfaced drunk, Sam's amazed he only smelled the whisky now.

"I thought I should find you because we always patch each other up whenever we get shot…", Dean's laughing lightly now, looking back down and for just a split second Sam sees the wisecracking big brother he loves so much underneath the broken man about to shoot himself in his living room.

"That doesn't make a lick of sense, right? I mean… if I'm gonna off myself, I ain't gonna be needing no patching up…", he's talking and moving his hands and his white knuckles are still on the trigger and Sam just finds his focus again.

"No, dude, no, it makes perfect sense", he tries. "We patch each other up, we take care of each other. You did right. You should have come to me".

Dean's eyes shoot up to meet his and Sam's heart is on fire because if dad was Dean's superhero, Dean was Sam's and his eyes are just vacant and dead.

No, his father is the one who's dead, he reminds himself.

Dean's alive. Focus.

Sam reaches his brother's shoulder, gently, knowing better than to reach for the gun right now. He coaches Dean inside and closes the door behind him. Last thing he needs is the neighbors calling 911 now.

He tries to ignore his friends' stares.

Dean's alive. Focus.

"I'm done, Sammy".

And what? "What? No."

He's in his brother's face now and Dean's face is up but his eyes are looking past him, as if he was made of glass.

"I can't do this anymore… I can't. All I know… all I know is fighting and now I ain't got nothing left to fight for…", Dean's very lightly beginning to shake now. "Dad's dead. Mom's dead. You…", Sam's heart tightens. "…I lost you…", and it breaks.

He takes his brothers shoulder and shooks. Focus.

"You didn't lose me. I'm here, Dean. I'm right here. You can't leave. You can't leave me, Dean. I'll be all alone, you're all I got. You can't leave me", he's desperate and he knows it but his brother is slipping and it's pointless to take the gun, because if Dean wants to kill himself, he will, and Sam has to get through to him somehow. Sam has to get through to him and he tries the only card he knows how to play.

"Who's gonna take care of me if you're gone?"

He lets it out and waits for what he's sure is the inevitable turning point coming up right about now, but… nothing. Dean's eyes are still away, his knuckles still white and tight.

"I'm just so tired, Sam….", his voice almost breaks and Sam is sure his brother is so far gone he has no idea they aren't alone in the room. He probably has no idea where he is.

Sam's friends are still staring, but by now Sam hopes they know Dean isn't shooting any of them. Not that he cares, at this point, about friends or Stanford or anything.

His father is dead.

Dean's alive.

Focus.

Time for a new card.

"Then, why don't you rest, Dean?", his hands on his brother's shoulders are gentle now and his voice is soft. "Just rest, okay. You've earned it. Let me take care of you for a change, huh? You always took care of me, right? That's what big brothers do, right? Well, I'm all grown up now, man, and you did it yourself. You raised me, you raised me right. You did good. Let me take care of you now, okay?".

Dean's eyes soften and Sam's eyes goes straight to his fingers and his focus is strong because, by God, they are relaxing. "Okay?", and he reaches down. "Let me get that", and he lets out a silent prayer that Dean's fingers give out. He takes the gun, empties it, puts it on his waistband.

Dean's just standing there and he looks a lot less menacing without the .45 in his hand. He's barely breathing and Sam's hit with a nauseating wave of home sickness because Dean looks all of 12 now and Sam can't help but feel like he's 8.

But he can't be 8, because his father is dead and his brother is alive.

Focus.

He takes a step closer and takes his brother's shoulder again and it's not a hug, but Dean's head falls down a mere inch from his collarbone and it's close enough.

"Hey, when's the last time you slept?"

He's not sure Dean's not sleeping standing up when he takes awhile to answer but then "I dunno…." comes. "What day it is?"

"Thursday."

"Oh…", Dean's head is still down. Sam's arm is still on his shoulder. "I have no idea."

Sam thinks he should smile but he's not sure he'll ever be able to smile again.

His father is dead.

"Then let's go upstairs, ok? You need to sleep", he takes Dean by the arm and remembers what he used to hear when their situations were reversed. "This will feel better when you wake up."

It's a lie, he knows.

His father is dead.

But Dean's alive.

He needs to focus.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam is taking the man that almost gave her a heart attack upstairs and part of her is terrified, because that's a man that was just holding a loaded weapon on her living room a few minutes ago, and part of her is trying to be understanding because Sam called him 'Dean' and Dean is the name of his brother.

And Dean said his father was dead.

Did Sam's father die?

She doesn't say anything to her friends still on the living room, obviously trying to know more of the soap opera that just came to life in her house.

She very gently goes up the stairs and she really doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but what the hell can she do, really? It's not like Sam would share anything about his family anytime soon.

They are speaking in hushed voices and it takes her awhile to realize Dean's denying the bed Sam is offering.

"Dude, seriously, it's 11 AM. We won't need the bed for a long time. Just rest, ok? I'll set up the couch for you later, if it'll make you feel better. Just stay."

She sees as Sam forces his brother ('why would his brother have a gun?', her mind keeps jumping there) in the bed and he must really be tired because she can see Dean almost melts at the feel of the mattress.

Sam is getting some clothes, one of his hoodies and a pair of sweat pants, from the drawers and offers them to him. Dean denies it, again, this time with only a slight motion of his head. He's barely awake now.

Sam takes a sharp breath.

"Dean, I don't know how else to say this, but you? You stink. Your clothes smell like booze from a mile away, man, Jess is going to kill me if I let you lie down on those", Sam warns. And she will, she really will.

"If I didn't think you'd pass out, I'd drag to the shower. Come on, shirt off", Sam coaxes him out of his jacket and when he gets his shirt off, Jess has to support herself on the wall.

Dean's right shoulder is covered in bloody bandages. His torso is just one giant bruise. Sam doesn't seem to bat an eye, though.

"Ok, I'm going to have to redress this".

He goes to their closet and Dean rests his head against the headboard. When Sam comes back with a first aid kit she didn't know they had, he peels off the bandages and starts to gently clean them.

"You bust some stiches here. I'm going to have to redo then, ok?"

When did Sam learn how to do that? He never said he had medical training.

And, in the subject, when did Sam learn how to handle a weapon? Jess saw him disarming his brother, unloading the gun with ease, not even looking at what he was doing.

Who was Sam?

She's very slightly beginning to panic when she hears sniffles.

She looks back at them.

Dean fell asleep, his head against the headboard. Sam's head is bowed down, thread and needle forgotten in his lap.

His hand is spread over his brother's chest, as if he's feeling his heartbeat.

And it dawns on Jess.

He's feeling his brother's heartbeat.

Sam's quietly sobbing now and mumbling words and Jess is no longer scared because this is Sam, her Sam, and she never thought his secrets meant that he was a liar, just that he was lost somewhere she couldn't reach.

She stops breathing, trying to make out his words and when she does, she's sure Sam is nobody bad.

"You're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive, you're alive", he repeats like a mantra.

She wants to get in and hold him but Sam is lost somewhere she can't reach.

She goes back downstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

It's a testament to how tired and drunk Dean is that he doesn't even stir in his sleep as Sam is redoing his stitches. Which is good, in Sam's book, because he doesn't think he can handle his brother in pain anymore for the day.

When he finishes the rest of the stitches, his head is spinning and before he knows it he's running to the bathroom and empting his stomach.

His father is dead.

He doesn't even know how. Pastor Jim didn't have the time to tell him and Dean didn't have the emotional stability to tell him.

His father is dead and he knows nothing and he's not sure he wants to know, because he's already thinking in the million ways he could have stopped this.

"YOUR BROTHER AND I NEED YOU TO WATCH OUR BACKS".

It's like thunder in his ears, like the old man is sitting right next to him and he jumps.

He wasn't there to watch their backs and now his father is dead.

And, yes, Dean is alive. But for how long?

He can't cry. He can't. If he starts crying, he'll never stop. He'll drown on the tears and die and he can't die, not now, because somebody needs to keep Dean alive.

Focus, Sam.

He washes his mouth and goes back to the bedroom. Dean is still sleeping with his head against the headboard. He's shirtless and the wounds are now exposed. Sam goes back to his side and starts making new bandages. He gives up on trying to change Dean's clothes, it will be too much of a hassle by now and he can't bare the thought of waking his brother.

He gently scoops Dean's head to the pillow, then goes around to take off his boots. Dean mumbles something in his sleep and Sam's memory jumps to one of the million nights when they were kids when Sam had to throw a wayward pillow towards his big brother to make him stop talking in his sleep. "Dude, do you ever shut up?"

Dean still smells like booze and Sam shouldn't let him sleep on Jess's sheets like that. But he doesn't care. He can buy new sheets.

Dean is fast asleep now and Sam closes his eyes with a sigh only to have another memory assault him. Dean is 15, he hit his head and got a concussion and managed to stay unconscious for three whole days. Sam and his father stood vigil on his hospital bed for three whole days, watching him sleep.

His father is dead.

His father is dead and he wasn't there to stand vigil.

Another deep breath and Sam has to fight the urge to just crawl next to Dean and fall asleep by his side, like when they were kids and Sam had a nightmare. Sam always thought his brother could protect him from anything when he was a child and Dean's sleeping form just exudes 'safety' and 'comfort'.

But Sam is not a child anymore and it's his turn to protect Dean.

He has to make sure the Impala is safe and the trunk is locked. He fishes the keys from Dean's jacket and drags himself downstairs.

When he gets there, most of his study group is gone. He can't help but wish that they'd all be gone by now. Including Jess. Which is unfair, he's aware, but he just wants to be alone and to take care of his brother. His father is dead and now Stanford finally feels like the betrayal his dad always said it was.

But Jess is there and so is her best friend, Jenny. His heart tightens when he realizes Jenny probably didn't want to leave Jess alone in the house where the madman with the gun was having a breakdown less than an hour ago.

Brady is there too and Sam is not sure his reasons are the same as Jenny's or if he's actually concerned about Sam. Brady is a good friend and they all heard about his father.

His father is dead. Oh, god, his father is dead.

What did he do?

"Sam?", Jess asks and he snaps out of it.

He's at the base of the staircase and he takes a deep breath just to find his voice.

"I'm sorry you guys had to see that…", his voice is still barely more than a whisper. He glances at Jenny. "I'm sorry he scared you. He would never hurt any of you…"

"Is he your brother?", Brady asks and for a second, just a second, Sam sees the smallest glint of excitement in the question. But then it's gone. Great, now he's getting paranoid too.

"Yeah…", he answers.

"Sam…", it's Jess's turn. "Is it true…about your dad?", her voice is gentle and soothing and Sam doesn't deserve her.

"Yeah…", again and he feels a muscle in his jaw jump.

Jess crosses the room and hugs him. He doesn't know what to do with his hands. He doesn't deserve her.

His father is dead. And Sam wasn't there to watch his back. He doesn't deserve Jess.

He lets go of her and goes straight to the liquor cabinet. He fishes the unopened bottle of whisky he got from Brady last Christmas, a glass and fills it. He downs it straight up with his back to his friends. The alcohol burns his throat and he tells himself that's why his eyes are watering. He fills another glass, tries to drink it more slowly this time but the smell hits him like a punch.

The whisky smells like his father and Dean and hunting. The whisky smells like the only life he ever knew, the life he hated but the only one where he ever could be himself. No lies, no secrets. Just whisky and gun powder and leather and the Impala.

The Impala.

"I'm going to get my brother's stuff out of his car", and he's out.

The car is parked a few blocks away. "You don't ever park right in front of where you're going, even it feels like everything is okay", his father's gruff voice is loud in his mind again.

His father is dead.

He takes deep breaths all the way down the street, trying to prepare himself and he actually manages to open the door without shaking.

He was right to come by. Dean's shotgun is in the back seat and anyone passing in the street could see it. There's an empty bottle of whisky in the front seat and it should bother him that Dean was drinking while driving but his brother has driven concussed and bleeding at the age of 11, so he knows it's pointless.

Sam checks that the street is indeed empty and reaches for the gun. He takes it to the trunk and puts it back on its spot, right next to where Sam's shotgun still is, waiting. He closes the trunk fast, he can't go there.

Guns, his father was killed. Was his father killed by a gun? Was it a spirit? A werewolf?

Was it the same thing that attacked Dean?

Was it the same thing that killed his mom?

Would his father still be alive if Sam hadn't left?

Focus, Sam.

He turns around and habit makes him open the passenger door. He can't go there. That's his place. He can't go there.

Sure, when he was a kid, he rode the back seat, with his dad and then Dean on the front. But Dean got the car on his eighteenth birthday and his father got the truck a few months after that. Sam was 14 and since then he always rode with Dean. Always, unless his brother was unconscious from wounds or alcohol, on the passenger seat.

He can't go there.

He turns around, opens the driver's seat and gets the empty bottle. He goes back out, finds a trash can and dumps it. Then he goes back in the car, enters, closes the door.

He has a parking space, but neither him nor Jess have a car, so he should take the Impala there.

He turns the keys and the roar of the engine starts at the same time as the Led Zeppelin album.

It's Dean's car and Dean's music, but it's his father's car and his father's music.

His father is dead.

Sam shuts his eyes tight. He can't cry. He can't cry, he can't cry and he refuses to accept that he's already crying.

His foot hits the pedal and the car is moving. Dean will be sleeping for at least a couple more hours. Sam heads out.

He's panting, he's crying and it hurts so, so bad but when he hits the road if he looks straight ahead and doesn't check the mirrors he can almost feel like he's back, like Dean's just asleep after a night out in the bar on the backseat and like his father's truck is following them.

He's on the Impala, Led Zeppelin is on the speakers and he's home.

Focus.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean wakes up in the softest bed he has ever been on, The sheets are smooth, there's a warm and soft cover up to his shoulders and the room smells like pie. When he opens his eyes, he sees golden soft curls and so much light his first thought is "did I do it?".

His memory is fractured. He remembers his father is dead because there's a part of his heart that is painfully missing and he's sure _that_ pain is just never ever fucking leaving. He remembers Sam, but not so much. Just flashes. Did he see Sam or did he just wish he saw Sam? He moves his shoulder and remembers the black dog's teeth sinking in his flesh. He remembers drinking. He remembers everything is lost, his war is over, his father is dead, his brother is gone and he remembers parking in a back road somewhere - where was he? - getting his gun, opening his mouth and then… he remembers Sam.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you", his blurry vision says in the softest of voices. Still blinking, a throaty whisper leaves his lips before he has a conscious thought about it.

"Mom?"

The vision gives him the saddest smile he ever saw and no, she's not his mom.

His mom is gone. His dad is gone. Everything is gone now.

Maybe they are together.

He's probably still alive, then.

"I'm sorry….", the vision says softly and her voice is just… well, if this isn't heaven, it's pretty much the closest thing Dean is ever getting near.

He tries to adjust himself in the bed and realizes he's shirtless. He looks around and finds a black hoodie next to the pillow. A Stanford hoodie. Right. Sam. He saw Sam. This is Sam's place. This is Sam's hoodie. Oh, _God_, his head is pounding.

He puts it on and the vision, no… the girl asks if he is okay. Who is that girl? He did drink an awful lot but he doesn't think he was in any condition to pick up girls, though. You don't go from suicidal to making merry in a heart beat like that. Well, maybe he would. He did drink an awful lot…

The girl must have seen his confusion on his face because the next thing she says is "I'm Jess".

Right, Jess.

Who is Jess?

"Sam's girlfriend…", she offers and oh. Oh. Sam's got a girlfriend. Atta boy.

"Are you feeling better?", she asks, so honestly concerned it touches a part of Dean's heart that has been dead long before the last shreds of his family went up in smoke.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine", he lies.

The sad smile again and she points to the nightstand. "Sam once said you really liked pie…" and by God there's the reason for the heavenly smell. His stomach growls, his mouth waters. He is so goddammed hungry.

"You bought me pie?", Dean asks because he's pretty sure that's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him since…. well, ever.

"Actually….", Jess looks down and he can swear she looks embarrassed. "… I like to bake…"

She baked him pie?

'Sorry, Sammy, I'm proposing to your girlfriend.'

"Oh…. oh. Thanks… uh… thanks", what the hell is he supposed to say to that?

"I really didn't mean to wake you", she says once again and he wants to say it's okay, but his head is pounding and his reflexes are shot to hell and before he can manage it she's at the door.

"I put some fresh towels on the bathroom and a change of clothes. Just… just make yourself at home, okay? I'll be downstairs if you need anything", and just like that she's gone.

She's gone and the very next second Dean has got the pie and it's the best frigging pie he has ever had in his life. Oh, fuck, he's going to have to move to Palo Alto.

When he's done, he takes off the hoodie to check on his bandages because he's pretty sure they are way past the point of changing by now. But they are not. They are fresh and clean and look like brand new.

Sam.

Where is Sam?

He gets up towards his jacket, on a chair nearby, and fishes his cell phone. Sam's phone barely rings before he picks up.

"Hi, hi". Dean did not prepare himself to hear his brother's voice and he can't say anything.

"Dean? Dean, you there?", Sam's voice is panicking and he sounds like little Sammy after a bad dream.

"Yeah, Sammy, yeah. I'm here. Where are you?", he asks.

"Sorry… sorry, I didn't mean to leave you alone, I thought you'd be asleep for a couple more hours. I just… I need to get out. I'm coming back right away", Sam says and Dean slips back into big brother mode like it's his second skin because it is, it really is.

"It's okay, dude. It's okay. Don't worry, I'm fine. Just take your time".

He turns off the phone, goes to the bathroom, takes off his clothes and Sam's neatly done bandages and he doesn't think about his father. He puts the water at scorching hot and he doesn't think about his father. The water burns his skin and it hurts but he doesn't think about his father.

He redresses his wounds expertly and goes back to Sam's bedroom. It's pretty bare by most people's standards, but to Dean it's just filled. There is a closet with hangers and hangers of clothes. There's a whole bunch of books. Some are about law, Sam's, the others are about diseases and anatomy and he guesses it's Jess'. There's pictures of the two of them and their friends all over the place.

It's a home and Dean has to get out of there.

Sam had a home once and it burned down before he could even remember it.

Dean had tried to give Sam a home his whole life, even if it wasn't a roof and four walls.

He failed.

Sam left, Sam left for this, for blond chicks that bake pies and happy photographs and a house that doesn't have a single line of salt in the windows.

Sam left.

That's what Sam always wanted and that's what Dean always wanted Sam to have, but just… later. Later when the war was over, their mother avenged and when he could be a part of it.

Well… the war sure is over now.

The general is dead.

What the fuck is Dean supposed to do now?

He goes down the stairs and flashes of memory hit him. The girl, Jess, looking at him terrified. Some people… he's not sure. Sam's eyes lost and pained and about to cry. His gun.

Jesus.

Good one, Dean. Your brother loses his father and the next thing he knows you're on his doorstep scarring his friends for life and wanting to off yourself in his porch.

No contest on who wins the crappiest brother in existence award this year.

Fuck.

The house is empty, but there's a post-it by the door.

"I have an evening class, be back after 9. Love you, Sam. Make yourself at home, Dean. J."

"Love you, Sam."

The lucky son of a bitch.

Dean sits on the couch the exact same moment his brother opens the door. And looking like hell.

His eyes are raw and red in a way Dean never saw before. And so far Dean was pretty sure he has seen his brother hurt in every way imaginable. And something inside Dean just snaps.

Dad was Sam's dad too.

Dean feels like he's going to die and he's not sure he's not going to off himself anyway, and Sam may have butted heads with the man for his entire life, but he was his dad and Sam looks just like Dean feels.

Sam realizes first the are staring at each other. "You okay?", and he's 5 again and Dean just feels like the worst fucking brother ever.

"I'm better…" he tries to smile but he can't bring himself to do it. God, he's an asshole. "Sammy, listen… I'm…uh… I'm sorry I scared you", he offers and he'd offer pretty much anything by now if it only take that look away from his brother's eyes.

It has the exact opposite effect apparently. Sam's suddenly panting, his hands are fisted and he looks like he's about to collapse and that's not Sam, that's Sammy and, fuck, Dean did this, it's his fault. He crosses the living room as Sam's knees buckle and tries to support him and that was far easier to do when Sam was 5 and not a fucking Sasquatch.

Sam crumples against him and his brother's full on sobbing now and Dean doesn't remember him crying like that since he was a toddler. It lights up all sorts of dormant instincts in him and Dean puts his arms around his brother and tries to shoosh him down but Sam is not a baby anymore and it doesn't work like it used to.

Sam's babbling and it's only at the sixth or seventh time Dean can make out the words "you can't die, you can't die" over and over and over again and isn't that the fucking cherry on his cake of guilt.

"I ain't dying, Sammy. I ain't, I promise, I'm here, I'm sorry, not leaving you, I'm sorry, I promise", he repeats and repeats because two can play this game and he means it, he's not offing himself anymore, not if Sam's like that, not if Sam still cares about him.

After a few minutes Sam stops mumbling and lets his head fall heavy against Dean's shoulder. He takes a haggard breath and Dean has to hold on to his frigging soul to not start sobbing himself with what Sam's says.

"Dad's dead".

He hasn't heard it out loud yet.

It must be true then.


	5. Chapter 5

It takes Jessica longer than she expected to return home. First, her class gets a surprise test and as much as she is worried about Sam and wants to come home, it's a group assignment and she can't just bail. She is stuck there for almost an hour after her class was supposed to have ended.

Then, she has to ditch Jenny.

Jenny, always the mother hen, is hellbent on taking Jessica out of "that place" where "that man" is.

"Seriously, you can NOT go back there, Jess. You just can not. I won't let you. There was a man with a gun threatening you just this morning and he is STILL there", her friend says.

She tries to make Jen remember Dean didn't actually threaten anyone but himself, but it's pointless. Jen saw what she thinks she saw and it's easier arguing with a mule.

"I don't care that he is Sam's brother. What the hell do you even know about Sam's brother? Has he ever actually told you anything about his family, Jessica? Anything, at all?"

Jess bows her head. Jen had a point.

"See, Sam's a nice guy. I know that. I get that you like him. And I am sorry that his dad died, I really am. But Sam has never ever talked about his family and maybe there's a reason for that. Because that man… he was dangerous, I could see it in his eyes and I know you could see it in his eyes. Maybe that's why Sam never talks about his family. Maybe it is because they are dangerous."

Jess did see it, at her front door. A dark, angry, tortured and, frankly, a little crazy, man with a gun. He was dangerous, he was scary.

But Jess also saw a different man. Dangerous psychotic man don't wake up calling for their dead mother, do they? Ok, maybe they do, but… the look on Dean's eyes was so sad and broken. He looked like a hurt and scared little boy and it took all Jess' will power not to reach out and hug him.

And the things Sam said to him in her living room? How Dean raised Sam. Was that true? Probably. Their mom was dead and Dean was his older brother. He was not old by much, so he couldn't really have done all that much… or could him?

The way Sam cared for his brother when she was sneaking up on them, there was a reverence and a kindness you only reserve to people that you love. A lot. So, yeah, Sam never talked about his brother. And yeah, his brother really did scare the living crap out of her this morning. But Sam clearly loves his brother and, to Jess, that is enough to give Dean the benefit of the doubt.

And, besides, their father died. Jess tried to imagine what that would feel like, to lose her father. She'd probably be going crazy too. If she had access to a gun, she wouldn't put it past her to reach for it. And no matter what trouble Sam obviously had with his father, he was still his father.

And she is still his girlfriend. She can't bail on him now. She loves him and doesn't that mean that she has to stick by his side, for better or worse? Sure, they are not married, but she loves him and she hopes that one day they will be. And if that happens, his family becomes her family too. She can't bail on Dean also.

So, it takes longer than she thought, but with that speech she manages to convince Jenny and finally she's returning home.

When she opens the door, the living room is dark and it takes her awhile to get her eyes accustomed. Then she sees them.

Dean's sleeping on their couch, with a pillow and a blanket, on his back and with an arm wrapped protectively around his hurt shoulder. She thinks she sees him stir when she enters and maybe open an eye, but it is over in a second and he's back to sleeping.

Sam is on a thin mattress, on the floor next to the couch, also with a pillow and a blanket.

On the coffee table, the whisky bottle Brady got Sam for Christmas is empty.

The scene breaks her heart a little bit.

She silently steps in the kitchen and closes the door. She fixes herself a sandwich, then goes to grab a piece of the apple pie she baked earlier. She smiles as she sees its almost all gone, just two slices, obviously left for her, left. She remembers Sam once telling her his brother was a "pie junkie" and she's a little proud of herself to have had, maybe, a little bit of a positive impact on this awful day for him.

After she eats, she goes upstairs, showers, changes to her pajamas. She chooses the long pants and sleeves she doesn't like very much, because they have company. Then she quietly goes back downstairs and kneels besides Sam.

"Hey, baby…", she whispers because she doesn't want to wake his brother.

He's a little startled, but then he blinks a little and sees her. "Hey…"

"Won't you come to bed?", she asks, because he's practically sleeping on the floor and that has too be uncomfortable.

He gives her a confused expression. "What…? Huh… Uh, no, no. I'll sleep here".

"Baby, I know you are sleepy, but you are on the floor… this is going to hurt tomorrow", she tries and he flinches a little at the word 'hurt'. And, yes, Jessica, good job. What won't be hurting tomorrow?

Sam glances towards his brother before he answers. "No, I'm fine. I just… I wanna make sure he's okay. I'm good. Don't worry, you go to bed, it's late…"

That sells it. Ok, he wants to be around his brother. That's understandable. She gives him a light kiss on the lips. "Ok, sleep well, then. I'll be here in the morning."

She will.

He won't.

Next morning when she wakes up, her living room is pristine. No sign of two people sleeping there and no sign of two people anywhere. She checks the clock on the wall. 6h45.

She goes to the kitchen and notices the coffee has already been made, There's a note next to it.

"Hey, sorry, we had to take off. We have to arrange things. I'll be back in a couple of days. S."

Arrange things.

He had to arrange things.

Things like what? The funeral?

Shouldn't she be along for that? She's his girlfriend. Girlfriends go to their boyfriends' fathers funerals, right? That is a very odd question to have, she recognizes, but she's confused. She feels like calling Jen to ask, but it's pretty early and she doesn't want to deal with an annoyed Jenny and doesn't want to give her friend any fodder for an 'I told you so'.

Sam knows he can count on her, right? She remembers her speech to Jenny the night before. Sam and her weren't married, but they were heading that way, weren't they?

Maybe she was the only one who thought that.

Maybe Sam thought of her as just plain girlfriend. Just another girl, no one he should, you know, invite to weddings and funerals.

She reads the note again.

No "I love you", not even a "I'll call you".

Okay.

Okay, then.

She drinks her coffee and takes a breath and no, she's being unfair. Sam lost his father and she's whining about her feelings? That is unfair. He probably has too much stuff in his head, poor thing. She's sure everything between them is okay.

She tries to concentrate on her day. He has afternoon and night classes, so her morning is free. She could go to the gym but she doesn't feel like it. So, groceries. They had to restock, they were on that phase were they were almost out of toilet paper.

She does the groceries, comes back and bakes cookies to get her mind of things. A whole lot of cookies, she recognizes, but she has a whole lot in her mind. She makes lunch, she eats lunch and at 1PM she can't bare it any longer.

She calles Sam.

Voice mail.

"Hi, this is Sam, I can't come to the phone right now. If this is an emergency, call my brother Dean, 866-907-3235, he can help".

Voice mail.

She never heard Sam's voice mail. Not ever, because Sam always, always, always answers his phone. No matter the time of day or night. He's never without it, it's never off, he always pickes it up. She's used to teasing him about it, saying she's dropping him at rehab for phone addicts.

And what was the deal with that phone message? Emergency? Why would someone call him with an emergency? He's not a doctor.

And Dean's his emergency contact? The brother he never talks about? The brother he hasn't seen in two years?

Jess calls him one more time and gets the recording again. She writes down Dean's number and calls him.

And, of course, voice mail.

"This is Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, leave a message. If you are calling about 11-2-83, page me with your coordinates."

Emergency. Again. And now codes? And coordinates?

Ok, she's a little past understanding now. She isn't mad, she's… confused?

Yes, she's confused. I mean, what the hell is the deal with the Winchesters?

She always thought Sam didn't talk about his family because they had a fight. A huge fight, he had said. A fight big enough he never, ever uttered a word about his father in the two years she knew him.

He talked about his brother every once in awhile, but just dumb nonsense. 'Dean's a pie junkie.' 'Dean's one of those classic rock freaks'. 'Dean likes old cars'. 'Dean likes this song'.

But did Jess ever impose? Did she ever ask him? Did she ever bothered him with wanting to know more? No, she didn't. But, you know what? She had the right to.

She isn't some nothing girlfriend. They've been together for one and a half years. They live together. They pay bills together, they travel together, he spends holidays with her parents, they are talking about getting a dog together.

You don't get dogs together with nothing girlfriends.

You don't get dogs together with girlfriends you don't owe at least an explanation and a freaking "I love you" before disappearing.

So, ok, maybe she is a little mad now.

And she stays mad for the rest of day. She gets in and out of class without saying a word and she dodges Jen. She turns off her phone so Sam will feel what she felt when he calls her up and gets her voice mail.

If he calls.

If he cares.

If… whatever.

She goes to bed and when she wakes up the next morning she isn't confused or mad. She is sad. She is heartbroken and sad and she feels like she was dumped. She thanks God it's Saturday and she doesn't really have to do anything, so she stays in bed.

When she wakes up again, it's noon. She picks up her phone and there's 19 missed calls. Jen, Jen, mom, Jen, Brady, Jen, Susie, Jen, Jen, Jen, Jen, Brady, Jen, Jen, Jen, Jen, Jen, mom and Jen.

No Sam.

And she's sobbing.

She calls Jen and cries her heart out on the phone. But Jen can't come, because it's Saturday and she went to her parents in San Diego to see her boyfriend, like she does every weekend. Jen offers to come back, but Jess can't do that. Just because she can't be with her boyfriend, doesn't mean Jenny shouldn't.

She takes a shower to calm herself down and calls home afterwards. When her mom asks about Sam, she says he just went out for a jog. She can't tell anything that happened, because she'd cry and then her mother would be on a plane on her way over. And she really wants to be alone now. Actually, she wants to be with Sam, but if that can't happen, she'll settle for being alone.

She skips lunch and stays in bed watching TV the entire day. Then she sleeps again and it's Sunday and Sam is still not there. She calls him and Dean about five hundred times, because when she hits call number 47 she sort of gives up on looking like a desperate loser.

Around call 550 she composes herself enough to leave him a message. She had rehearsed it perfectly and it shows just the proper amount of love and concern with just a tinge of 'call me, will you?' and she's proud of herself.

Sam doesn't call.

By the time night comes again, she's numb and curled in bed, eating ice cream and watching what is probably the tenth romantic comedy in a row, when she hears a knock on the front door downstairs and her heart jumps like it's going to go out of her chest.

Sam.

He probably lost his keys, the poor thing. He was so sad and so devastated and Jess is such an unfair person to ever think a bad thing about her Sam.

Sam's back.

She runs down the stairs barefoot and just lounges at the front door.

It's not Sam.

It's Brady.


	6. Chapter 6

When Dean wakes up at Sam's place for the second time, he is not as comfortable. He's in the couch, his back hurts and, god, his shoulder is killing him. He forces himself to a sitting position and when he opens his eyes there's a glass of water on the coffee table next to some pain killers.

He takes the glass and the pills and the minute he downs it, his brother is silently coming down the stairs, a duffel in his hand.

Sam looks… better. Not great, not even good, but he looks better and Dean is thankful for that small blessing. He must have a killer hangover though, the boy did drink that whole bottle by himself and he never could hold his liquor.

Dean didn't touch more than a glass. When Sam was getting shitfaced, Dean was sober. That was the rule.

"Hey, I made coffee", Sam says solemnly as he moves to the kitchen. When he comes back, there are two mugs in his hands. He offers one to Dean and sits on a chair. "So, I called Pastor Jim yesterday…"

Oh.

Pastor Jim. Right. Dean had forgotten about him.

He feels the sting of guilt in his stomach. He left his father's body alone in the house he was staying, called Pastor Jim and took off. He never even thought about worrying his father's old friend. He didn't have any plans on living this long.

He didn't anticipate getting drunk enough to drive to Palo Alto and all. Shit

His mind is working through the memory before he realizes Sam is still talking

"… I told him to wait for us."

Oh. Of course. Wait for us.

They had to salt and burn his father. They had to. It was the hunter's way, it was how his father always said he'd like to go.

"What about Jessica?", Dean asks, because he has to get out of the memory.

"I left her a note. We have a long drive, we should go. There's a bathroom downstairs if you'd like to shower".

Less than a half an hour later, Sam and Dean are back on the road. Where they belong, his heart reminds him. Sam is back in his place at shotgun. This is where he belongs, Dean tells himself.

Only it's not.

Not anymore

After two years of resentment, less than 24 hours in his brother's normal life finally made Dean see. His brother should go to college and get a girlfriend and get married and have a bunch of babies. That was probably what his mother would have wanted for him.

Dean and dad they… they couldn't. They had memories of her and memories of her burning and they couldn't let it go. But if Sam could… he should do it.

This life sucked anyway.

His mind is coming to terms with that, finally, and Dean feels a little lighter, even among all the pain of his father's death. It was horrible that it took dad dying for him to actually come and visit his brother and realize all this, but, like he said… sucky life.

He glances sideways at his brother, who is entranced in his own thoughts. Sam didn't belong in the shotgun seat, but Dean did miss him. They were still brothers. But they could still make it work. Sam in college, him hunting didn't mean they couldn't see each other every once in awhile.

'Sides… Sammy is studying to be a lawyer and the way this jobs goes, Dean's sure he's going to need one sooner rather than later…

"How did it happen?"

Sam's pained question takes him out of his thoughts like a knife and it takes him a minute to register it.

"What?"

"Dad…how did…. how did he die?"

And there it is.

Dean was wondering when that was going to come up. He thought Sam would ask last night, but his brother was too busy breaking down, then drinking his way into oblivion. And Dean was secretly glad because for all the rehearsing he had done is his head, he still wasn't sure how he could tell him.

How do you tell your brother you got your father killed?

Dean's knuckles uncounscioly tighten against the wheel and he keeps looking straight up.

"Was it the black dog that got you?"

Dean would chuckle if his insides weren't crumpling. Two years in college and Sam can still identify the monster by its bite marks.

"Not really…"

Sam shifts in his seat, quizzically.

"Then…what?"

Dean takes a deep breath and tries to start on his rehearsed speech, but cuts himself. Sam waits for a long moment before prodding again. "Dean?"

"I don't know what it was. He wasn't… he wasn't supposed to be… I was the one that was supposed to be dead."

Sam shakes his head fiercely and Dean realizes his brother probably thinks he's talking about killing himself again. "No, no… Not like that, just… really."

"Like what then?", and if Dean knew anything in his life was that his brother was relentless in his questioning. He would not give it up, not ever.

Not that he should, really. A man had a right to know how his own father died.

"The black dog got me. I was hunting on my own. Dad… dad thought he had a lead on the thing that killed mom, he was chasing that, told me we had to separate for awhile."

Sam waits silently.

"I don't remember much. I don't… it was supposed to be an easy job, but I don't know… the thing must have gotten the drop on me. I don't know… I remember the dog coming at me and I know it got me bad. But there was someone else there too… I'm not sure, my memory is crap…", he cuts it out.

No reason to give Sam the detailed tour on how he was 100% sure he was already dead.

"Just… next thing I know, I wake up in a hospital. Dad's there. His eyes are…I don't know, man. He was weird. Then the doctor is telling me how it was a miracle that I was recuperated, that he never saw such a recovery from that much blood loss… One hour later, dad drops dead. Just like that.".

Dean exhales.

Sam is concentrated watching the windshield. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again "You think… you think he got to a crossroads and… uh…"

Dean flinches. "What the hell does it look like, Sammy…"

Sam's not even blinking. When his lips start moving again, Dean is ready to cut his "you don't know, Dean, it could be anything", but instead Sam whispers: "I never thought he…"

And Dean's heart freezes, a cold dark hand around it, shutting it tight. "What?"

Sam doesn't continue. "What, Sam? What?", he feels the sickening feeling he felt so many times before begin to pit in his stomach.

His brother looks bewildered at him. "Nothing… just nothing."

And that's the confirmation of what he was thinking. Dean knows his brother. Knows how Sam's mind operates and knows all the little certainties and beliefs he carries in his big, ol' know-it-all head. And all thoughts of a happy-apple-pie-life with his brother just go out of the fucking window.

Dean wants to throttle him.

"What, Sam? You never thought what, Sam? You never thought dad cared? About me?", he's exploding and he can't help it, because God, his dad is dead and Sam is still doubting the man.

"No, no, that's not what I meant, Dean, just… that… uh…", Sam stumbles desperately and it takes all Dean has to punch the steering wheel instead of his brother.

"What then? That he didn't care, period? That's where you were going, wasn't it?", he shouts.

Sam's talking, trying to cut him, but he doesn't have to listen anymore. He's had enough. He wants to stop and leave Sam in the road, let him walk back to the life he loves so much, where he can pout and sulk and bitch about the man that kept him alive for twenty years for as long as he wants.

He takes a hard, long, painful breath instead and just ups the volume on the cassette player to drown Sam's voice and keeps on driving. If he shows up without Sam, Pastor Jim is just going to go out to get him, anyway, and then this will take even longer to be over.

Sam tries to touch his arm and Dean snaps it out of his reach and glares his most menacing "touch-me-again-and-I'll-kill" look. The music is too loud, but he thinks maybe Sam's lips are saying he's sorry and Dean just doesn't fucking care.

Fuck Sam and his apologies. Sam only cares about himself, period, Dean knows it.

The drive is silent for the rest of the way, except for the two or three times Sam offers to take the wheel. Like Dean is ever letting him drive again. Ever. They only stop for gas and eat on the car.

He's tired, his shoulder is bitching again, but he keeps on driving. Mind on the road, that's Dean's way.

They get to the house a little after nightfall. Pastor Jim is waiting by the door, Bobby and Caleb with him. He waits for the inevitable chewing of his ass, but Pastor Jim just puts his hands around him and Dean freezes on the spot. He doesn't want to be hugged, he doesn't need to be hugged. Just… what the hell, he just wants to burn his father and be left alone.

Pastor Jim asks if he's alright and Dean just gets out of his face without looking. Sam's being hugged by Bobby and Caleb is at the door. His father's arms dealer stops him with a look. Dean doesn't want to stop, but he learned to take Caleb's silent orders as readily as he took his fathers and the obedience is just ingrained in his brain.

"Dean", Caleb's eyes search for his own and Dean just looks past them, stiff, at attention. "You ok, Dean?"

"Yes, sir", he answers readily because he just wants to be left the fuck alone,really.

Caleb steps out of his way and Dean goes straight to the liquor cabinet. If he's going to do this, he's going to need a drink or a dozen.

He feels Bobby's hand on his shoulder and snaps "I'm fine!" before being asked. Bobby just nods and steps back.

Dean takes the bottle and heads to the kitchen. He can hear the four of them talking on the other room, but he doesn't care.

A few hours later, they hike to the place where Pastor Jim set his father. The pastor says something about God and fucking angels and Dean doesn't fucking care. When Bobby takes the salt, Dean stops him with a hand gesture.

Dean's doing this.

Alone.

His father and him, they were the only ones that got each other. They were the only ones that remembered that day, they were the only ones that remembered his mom, they were… they were… Dean's doing this.

He's doing this.

He takes the salt and drops it evenly across his father's body. He doesn't look at his brother's face. At the corner of his eyes, he can see Sam's stiff form. His heart tightens a little, against his will.

Sam knows better than to try and join him.

Dean takes the kerosene and soaks his father in it. His eyes burn and his breath hitches.

And like he's done a thousand times before, to a thousand other corpses, Dean lights it.

He takes a step back and stares at the flames.

He takes a step back and stares at the flames and tries to will away the memories.

His father is burning.

His mother is burning.

His eyes are burning.

His heart is burning.

He instinctively takes an arm out to move Sam farther away from the fire.


	7. Chapter 7

The very fist memory Sam Winchester has of his father is laying on a motel bed at night terrified his daddy died.

"_What isn't daddy back yet, Dean?"  
_

"_What if he's dead, Dean?"_

"_What if the monster got him this time, Dean?"_

All through his life, Sam imagined what he would do the day his father died. Because his father would die sooner rather than later. He was sure of that since he was 8 years old. One day John Winchester was going to go out on a hunt and he would not come back. That's what happens in the life he led. One day a monster was going to get him on a bad day and he would die. Simple as that.

The same thing was going to happen to Dean, too. By the time Sam accepted the fact that his father and his brother would not ever going to give up the chase, he started getting ready for the inevitable day they would die. He had to be strong.

Most of the times he was terrified of the idea. He lost count of how many nights he spent in motel rooms with his heart jumping out of his chest, unable to sleep, unable to even breath until he heard the click on the door lock and the shadow of his father entering the room.

A few times, he was angry. He told himself he would never come to the funeral. He lied to himself it would actually be for the better, the chase would be over, he would be free.

When he got to college and his family disappeared out of his sight, it got worse. He started to dread the sound of his phone ringing. He would never leave it out of battery, he would make sure to never go anywhere that didn't get reception and he always, always answered it. No matter what.

Every time it rang he wondered if that was it. 'Is this the time someone is calling me to tell me my father is dead?'

Yesterday, it was.

Pastor Jim called him and the tone of his voice alone told Sam it was bad. He clung to the phone foolishly hoping that maybe his dad was just injured. Maybe he was badly injured. Maybe he needed a blood transfusion.. Maybe he needed a transplant. Maybe he wasn't dead.

He was.

His father was dead and five minutes later his brother was in his living room clutching his silver Colt and for minutes that stretched into forever Sam was sure his worst nightmare was coming true and he was going to lose them both.

He didn't.

He got Dean through.

"_We always patch each other up._"

Sam focused on that.

"_We always patch each other up."_

The key was _each other _and sure enough, later that day, when Sam was the one drifting away, Dean got him through.

"_Not leaving you"._

It didn't last long.

Being around Dean made Sam immediately revert to childhood, to 'Sammy', and 'Sammy' always spoke before his brain engaged in what it was doing. He blurted out the only thing he really, really, really shouldn't had and his brother closed off again, out of his reach.

It's ok, though.

Dean is alive and Sam can fix this. He just has to focus.

"_Not leaving you too, Dean._"

He watches his brother pour salt in their father's remains. Sam won't join him. It isn't fair. Dean's the one that never left his father's side, never doubted him, never disobeyed him, never gave up his faith in the man. Dean should do this. He should do it alone.

Dean lights the fire and Sam can see in his eyes the moment the memory of their mother invades this reality that is already so terrible.

Sam has no nightmares about that fire. He's sure he's going to get a few out of this one.

They stand there in solemn silence, side by side, and after a moment, Pastor Jim, Caleb and Bobby leave them alone.

Sam has imagined this scene hundreds of times. Standing next to his brother burning his father. He imagined what he would feel, what he would do, what he would say, but now it's here and he says nothing, does nothing.

He only wishes he felt nothing.

Sam's heart feels empty and it hurts and burns at the same time and how is that even possible?

He tries to stand at rigid attention, a last sign of respect for John Winchester from the son he received anything but. It's hard with his body losing ground to silent sobs and Sam thinks it's fitting that Dean's standing next to him perfectly still.

It's the perfect depiction of the Winchester brothers. Dean strong and focused and Sam falling apart.

When he steals a glance to his brother, though, he sees different. Sure, Dean is at attention. Back erect, head high, eyes straight ahead, mouth in a tight thin line. But his eyes are red and raw and overflowing. His tears soak his face in sharp contrast to his composed expression.

Sam never saw his brother cry before.

The two of them stand there for hours. Sam worries if Dean is ever leaving this spot. Doesn't matter though. Sam won't leave his side. He's not sure when that decision was made, but it is clear in his head.

"_Not leaving you."_

Not now.

Not ever.

Not again.

The flames have faded for at least a couple hours when the day breaks and Dean finally moves. He takes two steps back and without a word starts the hike to the house. Sam follows him silently.

'_Not leaving you.'_

When they get to the house, Dean doesn't enter. He moves around it and it takes Sam a moment to realize where he's going.

When Dean opens the driver's door to the Impala, Sam moves to the back half dreading his brother stopping him.

He doesn't.

Dean lays down on the front seat.

Sam lays on the back.

He takes a deep breath of the familiar scent of leather and gun powder in the closest place he ever really had to a home. Dean's asleep in less than a minute, Sam can tell. He just lays there, taking in his brother's breathing, calming himself down.

Dean's alive.

Focus.

SPNSPNSPN

**Author****'s note**: Hi, I'd just like to thank you for all your wonderful reviews. You guys are awesome.

Anyway, just letting you know, it's going to be awhile before I can update again. Probably only next week. Just letting you know I'm not disappearing. Just real life getting in the way. I'll be back, though, I promise.


	8. Chapter 8

Pastor Jim's coffee suffers from a serious lack of sugar but Dean can't bring himself to care. Just as he can't bring himself to wake his brother, still sleeping on the backseat of the car. It's been years since Sam fitted there and he has to be uncomfortable. Dean doesn't care.

He drinks his coffee absently, sitting on the couch. He doesn't even know who this house belongs to. Some hunter, friend of Caleb's, keeps it open as a safe house for other hunters looking for shelter. Only rule is to keep it clean and stocked. Dean never meant to spend more than a night. He definitely never meant to burn his father in the backyard.

This is so fucked up.

But he doesn't care.

All the hurt and the pain of the past few days, since his father collapsed on that hospital hallway… its all gone now. All the anger Dean felt just mere hours ago… gone. He's just empty and tired and dry.

Pastor Jim asks if he wants something to eat and he knows that he should eat something. Last "meal" he had was a bag of Doritos almost 24 hours before, on the road from Palo Alto. But he doesn't feel hungry.

Pastor Jim asks how he's holding up and he knows he should feel something. But he doesn't feel anything. So he shrugs. "'m fine."

He's fine.

He supposes he is, actually. Feeling nothing sure beats what he knows he's supposed to be feeling right now.

His father is dead.

His family is gone.

His worst nightmare has come true and he's all alone now.

What's he supposed to do?

Hunt?

What's the fucking point?

The evil things out there always win. They always do. It doesn't matter how many people he saves, he can't save them all. He couldn't even save his own family. What sort of hunter is he? Evil things took everything that mattered to him and he couldn't lift a finger to stop it.

They burned his mother and took his father - his father, his amazing father, the biggest fucking hero in the whole world, John Winchester, invincible - without even a fight. If they could break John Winchester, Dean is surely no match.

What's the point?

Sam was right. This whole time, Sam was right. This is fucking pointless.

Not that Dean can do anything about it, really. Because, seriously, what's he supposed to do if he's not hunting? Get a job, a normal life, a picket fence?

Right.

Sam's the one for the normal life. Dean was broken for the start. He's a lost cause.

So, no hunting. No normal life.

Seriously, what was his dad thinking? Does this look like a life worth living? Is this life worth his father's? It isn't. It's so fucking isn't.

His father knew nothing about him, apparently. Dean would much rather be dead than alone.

Which… by the way, is exactly the line of thinking that got him in this mess with Sam.

Dean's not shooting himself anymore. He promised Sam. He never broke a promise to his brother and he's not starting now. And Dean knows that Sam will blame himself if Dean goes through with it. He won't do it.

He'll just… sit on this couch and drink coffee and… whatever.

What was it that Angelina Jolie said in that movie where she was crazy? 'Razors are painful, rivers are damp… blah blah, blah, nooses give, you might as well live'.

That's Dean Winchester for you. All options suck, he might as well live.

After a long while, Sam gets inside. Kid looks like hell. Dean should be pissed at him, he knows. But he's not. Sam is just Sam. It's Dean's own fault to hope that Sam's image of their father would one day improve. Sam never respected their father. He never wanted this life.

It's probably Dean's fault too.

All the years he tried to shelter the kid, tried to make his childhood last longer, tried to protect him from the knowing, from the training, from the life they had to lead. Maybe Dean protected him too much and Sam never realized he had a responsibility. Maybe Dean wanted to take care of Sam so bad he never gave his father the chance to be a real father. Maybe if Dean had stepped back a little, his father and Sam could have had a closer relationship and this whole mess would have been avoided.

Yeah, it's Dean's own fault.

Sam gives him a long look and asks if he's okay. He repeats the automatic "'m fine" he gave Pastor Jim and fishes his cell phone from his pocket, looking for something to focus on.

48 missed calls. Two from Pastor Jim, one from Bobby, all from the day before. A couple from other hunters, who probably already knew about his father. Over 40 from a number he doesn't know.

Weird.

Whatever, it's not like he gives a fuck.

What emergency could he possibly care about now?

He flips the small TV on, just to have something to stare at and puts his legs up on a cushion. He lays there. For hours.

After awhile, Sam makes lunch… or dinner, probably, since it's starting to get dark outside. They slept most of the day. His brother brings him a plate and he just shrugs his denial, but Sam sits tiredly on a chair next to him and just breathes. "Dude, please…"

Dean takes the plate, just to stop Sam from talking.

It works.

They eat in silence, then Sam takes their plates to the sink.

He comes back, sits back on the chair and just watches the TV with him. Dean keeps expecting him to open that big mouth.

Pastor Jim is nowhere to be seen. Probably went out and Dean missed it.

"So… you're just not going to talk to me ever again?"

And there it is.

_That__'s right_, Dean wants to answer. He just shuts his eyes. He does _not_ want to talk.

"Dean, please…", and that pleading five-year-old-Sammy is so not going to work today… tonight.

"Sam, just… leave me alone."

"I won't", Sam answers a little too readily and little stronger than Dean expected it, so he turns his head quizzically.

Sam takes a deep breath.

"I won't leave you."

Dean lets a small throaty laugh at that. "Right."

"I mean it", his brother is staring at him and he's no longer five-year-old-Sammy, he's fourteen-year-old-my-name-is-Sam-take-me-seriously.

"Okay." Dean is so not in the mood for his brother's emo moments.

"I mean it, Dean. This… this changes everything. I won't leave you alone", Sam pauses, Dean just stares at the TV.

"I don't know what you want to do, but I'm doing it with you. Wherever you go, I go.".

Right.

How many times have Dean hoped and prayed to hear this little speech again? He lost count.

Means nothing now.

"You're not going back to college?", he asks, not turning away from the screen, but looking at his brother from the corner of his eye.

Sam blinks, looks away, looks back, swallows.

"No."

Right.

"Why, Sam? Because dad died and now…", Dean tries, but Sam cuts him, sharply. "Because you are my brother, Dean, and I won't leave you alone".

And, there. Remember all that nothing Dean was feeling? Gone.

He's pissed.

He turns to face Sam.

"Oh, right. Now, now, I'm your brother. Now, dad's dead, so I'm family again. Right, good to know, Sam".

His brother is staring at him wide-eyed. "You were always my family, Dean, just what the hell makes you think…"

Dean's not listening. "God, you are so selfish."

That shuts him up. "What?"

Dean puts his head on his hands, elbows on his knees and he's just…letting it all out. Fuck it.

"All these years I had to hear you bitch and moan and complain about our life and our father and how we moved around and how we didn't have a home and, fuck, Sam… did you even ever thought about how you were making me feel?", Dean lifts his head to stare at his brother. Sam's silent.

"I mean… all I ever did my whole entire fucking miserable life was to try to give you a home. To give you a taste of normalcy. Fuck… I worked two jobs no matter what ass-end town in the middle of nowhere we were in, so you wouldn't have to. I watched all you frigging stupid plays and soccer games and drove you around every fucking where and all I ever heard was you bitching about how dad wasn't around, how dad didn't make it to the play or the game or whatever the fuck…", Dean's voice is raising and raising and he knows he's pushing all the buttons he swore never to push but… _now _he's family?

"… and NOW I'm family? NOW you won't leave me? All I wanted my entire life was for the three of us to be a family, for you two to get along, for you…", Dean's panting. "And now… now dad's dead and now you want to… to…".

Dean has to stand. He has to leave. He has to…. he takes a deep breath. Looks at his brother.

"Now? Now I don't care. I don't want it. It's too little, Sam… and it's too late".

He stands there for a minute. Sam slowly bents his head down, nodding.

Dean should storm out, he should want to break something. But he let it all out and now he's back at calm and numb and to his blessed nothing.

So he just whispers. "I'll drive you back to Palo Alto in the morning."

Then Dean sits back in the couch, pulls his legs up and goes back to staring at the TV.

Sam just sits there.


	9. Chapter 9

They are two hours into the road, going back to Palo Alto, and they haven't uttered a word to each other yet. Sam's heart is on fire.

He didn't have breakfast. He didn't get the coffee Pastor Jim offered after commenting about how Sam stayed up all night. He just followed Dean blindly and silently when his brother started to motion out of the door the next morning and found himself at his seat in the Impala.

He caught sight of his cell phone on the dash when he entered. He forgot about it. There were over 50 missed calls. Sam didn't check who they were from. There were probably a lot from Jess, he figures as much. But he couldn't bring himself to utter any word out loud. He knows he should call her, he knows she must be worried, but does he even have a voice?

He doesn't.

He has no voice.

His father is dead. His brother resents him.

Sam has no voice.

No focus.

He turned the phone into silent mode and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

Dean turned on the engine, but killed the radio the moment ACDC started on the speaker. Sam was glad. He couldn't handle the memory.

They drive in silence for miles and Sam can't bring himself to look at his brother. His guilt is eating his insides.

Dean is right.

What he feels… it is too little. And it is too late.

But the thought of separating from his brother now… it's too much. Dean's grieving and hurting and scared. And Dean lashes on to the hunt when he's hurting. He's reckless when he's scared. Sam has to be there. He know he'll never in a million years convice Dean to stay with him, even if it is for a few days, so he has to join him. He has to watch his back.

Dean speaks so softly, Sam is afraid he's imagining it. But then his brother turns his head around to watch him from the corner of his eye and he knows it's real. "What?", Sam whispers.

And there it is.

"I'm sorry."

Sam doesn't know what to do with that. He just… stares.

Dean is sorry? For what? Dean was right.

But Dean's talking again.

"I shouldn't have said those things… I was out of line", his jaw is set and Sam recognizes Dean's game face on. His brother is pulling himself together.

"You were right", is all Sam has to offer.

"Yeah, well, doesn't mean I had the right to say it… I mean, he was your dad too. You're hurting too. I… I shouldn't have".

"I'm not leaving you, Dean", Sam cuts him, because that's all that matters: he's not leaving Dean.

"Yeah, you are."

No.

"No. I'm not", two can work the game face. "I know it's too little and it's too late, you're right, and maybe if I had stayed before we wouldn't be here and dad would be alive, but I'm not leaving you, Dean. I'm not. How can I go back to college and sit on class…", Sam only realizes he's babbling when Dean barks. "You're going back to college. You're sitting on that class".

It's an order, straight out of John Winchester's book of menacing tones. But then Dean softens it. "You're going back to college and you're sitting on that class and you're having that normal life, Sam. That's what you're doing, that's what I want you to do."

And… what? Since… when? Dean wants him to have a normal life?

That's news.

"Look, I know… things are screwed to hell. But… you were right when you left. You've earned your right to a normal life". Dean's staring at the road ahead, Sam is staring at Dean in disbelief. "You got it. You did good. I'm proud of you. You're not going to give it all up now just because your jackass brother scared the crap out of you trying to eat his Colt in your living room", Dean tries to smile.

"It's not funny".

"I know"; Dean exhales. "Look, Sam. I was thinking about this before… before we fought on the way here". Sam flinches from the memory. "We can make this work, okay? I can go do my stuff and you can do your stuff and we don't have to cut our ties because of it."

Sam's heart… still hurts like hell, really. But he recognizes his brother's effort.

"I can come around Palo Alto every once in awhile. I can even take my shit from Pastor Jim's to your place if it'll make you feel like my home base is there…", Dean offers with a nod. "And we can call each other. Hell, you can help with the research part, I'm pretty sure that fancy college has one hell of an occult session…"

Dean's trying. His smiles don't reach his eyes, but he's trying. Sam offers a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes either.

He doesn't want this. He wants to go with Dean. But it's a middle ground. It's something Sam can work with… for now.

"'Sides, dude… that Jessica girl is way out of your league. You shouldn't be so eager to leave her there to come chasing me around. You know I don't hang out with classy chicks like that…"

Sam snorts.

"Get some sleep, twerp, you stayed up all night", Dean punches him lightly on the arm and turns on the radio, lowers the volume.

Dean's concern. The Impala. ACDC on the speakers.

Home.

Sam's asleep.

They get lunch on a small diner and don't talk much. Dean gets pie. Sam never thought he'd want to be on the road with his pie-junkie of a brother so bad. But he's afraid to ruin this feeble truce, so he doesn't let the "I'm not leaving you Dean" roll out of his tongue anymore.

They park on his driveway when evening falls. The lights are out, Jess must not be home.

They sit in silence for a long while before Dean offers an "it's okay, Sammy". It's not okay. It's so far from okay… it hurts.

"I'll call you first thing tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay", Sam breathes against his will like he's twelve again. He doesn't care.

"I can come by in the weekend, how's that sound? And you know… holidays are not far. We can go someplace. I bet I can score some fake passports and we can go to Mexico."

"Yeah, Dean. We can go".

Sam gets his duffel from the back seat and fights the urge to hug his brother. It's okay. It's okay. He'll be here next weekend. They'll talk everyday. Sam will know if he's in trouble. He can work with this. He can work with this.

He closes the car door and walks back to his place, fighting every fiber of his being that wants to turn around.

He gets inside and rests his head against the door. He's home, he tries to convince himself. He finds a plate of cookies on the kitchen table. Jess.

Jess.

Way, way out of his league.

He doesn't deserve her. It wouldn't be fair to leave her.

And, honestly, he doesn't want to leave her. He loves her. He wants to marry her. He wants to marry her and have Dean as best man. He wants to marry her and keep his brother safe. He wants to be in Stanford and at the road. He's… he's so screwed.

And tired.

He drags himself up the stairs and when he sees his bed he just collapses.

He's so tired.

So tired.

He feels something dropping on his forehead.

And… no.

No.

There's blood and then there's fire and Jess is on the ceiling.

Jess is on the ceiling bleeding and burning.

Jess is on his ceiling, his bedroom's ceiling, blond, beautiful, bleeding, burning.

Like mom.

Jess is dead and then there's Dean.

Dean's arms force him up and drag him out and Sam can't hear anything because he's screaming.

He's screaming and trashing and fighting and Jess is still in there.

He's on the sidewalk and he has to go back.

He's on the sidewalk and he has to go back and he can't move.

He can't move because Dean's holding him, arms locked, feet planted, an unmoving rock. "No, Sammy, no, no", his brother repeats and repeats while Sam's world crashes. All he has room to for is to crush his face against his brother's jacket and scream.

Later, maybe a minute, maybe a century, fire trucks come. Police lights follow. Sam knows it's useless. He doesn't remember the first time this happened, but he's heard about it so many times it's like he does.

He lets go of Dean by then because his brother has to talk to the cops, lie his way out of any suspicion, like it's his second nature. Sam doesn't care if he's a suspect.

He's sitting by himself on the sidewalk. He shrugs neighbors off wordlessly, one after the other. After awhile, his friends show up. First Zak, then Brady, then Karen. They all leave after he politely asks them to. But Jenny comes, crying and sobbing and she just won't take no. She throws her arms around Sam and he shoves her off, gruffing out his best impression of his father to tells them all to leave him the hell alone.

He crosses and goes back down the street and he knows his brother is following him without even looking. He goes to the Impala and opens the trunk with the keys Dean left him with.

Dean reaches him just as he pulls out his shotgun from its place. Its place beside Dean's. It feels as right in his hands as his brother does at his side.

His brother is at his side.

His brother is alive.

His father is dead, Jess is dead, but his brother is alive.

"We got work to do."

Focus.

**The end**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE  
**

First of all, thank you, thank you, thank you for all your lovely reviews and support.

Second, sorry for taking so long with this update. Prophet Chuck was right, endings are a pain in the ass.

So, as some of you noticed in the beginning, this was never supposed to be a multi-chaptered fic. I had one scene (the first chapter) in my head bugging me to be written and I did. It was supposed to be a one-shot. But then I started imagining what happened next and you guys with your lovely reviews just pushed me to write the rest. I hope I did your expectations justice.

I never wrote a multi-chaptered fic before ('Shotgun' doesn't count, it's just a lot of one-shots put together), so this was a little harder than I expected. And a nice exercise.

Also, I'm not an English native speaker so I apologize for any typos or inconsistencies you found.

Anyway, thank you for your support. You guys are great.

And let's enjoy our boys back this week. I really can't wait to be Friday already!


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